


i'll eat you up (i love you so)

by tgreyjoy



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, happy family au to cope with the horrors of canon, the Rickon/Shireen is more so implied because they're eight-year-old kids after all
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-07
Updated: 2013-11-18
Packaged: 2017-12-14 06:17:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/833700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tgreyjoy/pseuds/tgreyjoy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which eight-year-old Rickon has a biting problem, Catelyn gets the entire Stark family involved in trying to cure him, and Shireen learns that everyone has a different way of showing they care.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. king of all wild things

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ztannas](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ztannas/gifts), [elendventure](https://archiveofourown.org/users/elendventure/gifts).



> Based on the eight-year-old Rickon headcanons my friends and I came up with, as well as the "cannibal Rickon" theory (although, thankfully, I didn't go quite so extreme for this AU). Set in a universe where the Starks are a twenty-first-century family, everyone's alive and generally happy, and Rickon's occasional biting problem is one of their larger worries.
> 
> Title and chapter titles taken from "Where the Wild Things Are", by Maurice Sendak.

Catelyn Stark was folding laundry in the living room when the phone rang.

“Mom!” Arya hollered from the kitchen. Judging by the noise, she was apparently kicking around a soccer ball, and Cat would've reminded her daughter about Stark house rule number seventeen (no soccer balls indoors) if she hadn't been facing mountains of unfolded laundry at the moment. “Phone!”

“I’ll get it!” shouted Bran, ever-so-helpful. Cat heard him roll his wheelchair to where the cordless phone rested on the kitchen counter. “Hello, you've reached the Stark residence. To whom would you like to speak?” Cat smiled to herself; her twelve-year-old son answered the phone more formally than her husband did.

There was a pause. “Just a minute,” said Bran, his voice sounding somewhat nervous. Cat knew Bran had an uncanny sense of foreboding; she had a feeling that whoever was on the other end wasn't calling with good news. More wheels rolled until Cat finally saw her son enter the living room. “It’s for you, Mom,” Bran said, tentatively holding out the phone.

“It’s Mr. Baratheon,” Arya called, “and he sounds angry!”

Cat’s stomach plummeted. She was ninety-nine percent sure she knew why Stannis Baratheon would be calling her at this moment. And she was ninety-nine percent sure she’d have to give her youngest son yet another talking-to. She stepped toward Bran, preparing herself for the sure-to-be unpleasant conversation with Stannis.

 _None of the others were biters_ , Cat thought begrudgingly. _Why Rickon? And why now?_

* * *

As a baby, Rickon Stark was adorable- the kind of baby you’d see on the cover of _Parenting_ magazine. His cheeks were chubby, his red hair was perfectly curled, and his blue eyes sparkled. When Cat brought baby Rickon out in public, countless strangers stopped to pinch his cheeks and gush over him using nonsensical baby-babble (which led Arya to ask worriedly, “Did people do that with me?”)

He was also a complete terror.

Rickon’s crying kept Ned and Cat awake countless nights. He was unhappy unless he was being held or nursed. And he was _always_  hungry. When he learned how to crawl, at least two Stark siblings had to be on Rickon Duty at all times- for if no one was looking, Rickon would venture off on an exciting journey around the house and get stuck under things, put random objects in his mouth, or (one horrible time) fall down the stairs. However, the real trouble began when Rickon got his first teeth.

His first victim was, of course, his mother. Rickon was about a year and a half old at the time, and Cat was feeding him his favorite food, mashed beets (despite Robb’s persistent comments about how they resembled blood). Cat spooned the same amount of beets she fed Rickon every day into his open mouth. But today was no ordinary day. Rickon seemed to know he wasn’t getting any more food when Cat put a lid on the jar of beets and put the spoon into the dishwasher. When Cat took out a washcloth and attempted to wipe away the red stains the beets had left on her youngest son's face (Robb did have a point regarding the beets’ appearance), Rickon sunk his tiny teeth into her hand and Cat had a bandage around her finger for a week.

Bran, who was closest to Rickon’s age and his main playmate, was next. During a game of Thomas the Tank Engine, the then-six-year-old-Bran refused to let go of Henry the Green Engine, Rickon’s favorite train. To make a long story short, Bran cried for two hours, Cat reassured Bran that his hand wouldn’t fall off multiple times, and nobody but Rickon ever touched Henry the Green Engine again.

As Rickon continued to grow, he continued to bite. And as he grew more teeth, his bites became harder. One by one, the rest of the Stark family fell prey. Sansa, when she was putting Rickon to bed and refused to read him _Where the Wild Things Are_ for the fourth time in a row. Arya, when she hid Rickon’s favorite stuffed wolf as a joke. Jon, when he’d come home from school in a bad mood and wouldn’t play catch with Rickon. Robb, when he forgot to change Rickon’s diaper (although even Cat admitted he deserved that one). Ned, when he tried to feed Rickon vegetables for the first time; this was not attempted again for several weeks. Even Theon Greyjoy, Robb’s best friend and an omnipresent being in the Stark household, discovered he’d underestimated Rickon’s capabilities of damage during an intense game of Truth or Dare.

The kids eventually got used to Rickon’s ways and made jokes about it, calling him “the Cannibal”. Cat, meanwhile, assumed the biting would stop when he got older. And, in some ways, it did; Rickon eventually learned to use his words when asking for seconds. In fact, he rarely bit anyone in the family anymore-he was smart enough not to bite in front of Cat, and his siblings were usually too busy to provoke him. But, as Cat had learned from the four impromptu parent-teacher conferences she’d had this year, Rickon continued to bite other students during school, as well as at friends’ houses (a similar incident with the Baratheons had happened last month). And, despite her valiant efforts, she’d so far been unsuccessful in talking him out of it.

 

* * *

 

The car radio was set to Ned and Cat’s favorite oldies station, but it did nothing to lighten the mood during the drive home from the Baratheons’.

“Rickon, are you listening to me?” asked Cat exasperatedly. She’d given Rickon yet another lecture on the evils of biting; it had mainly been a reiteration of her past four lectures ("biting is not socially acceptable", "biting is for animals, not for people", "do you see your father and I biting each other? of course not"), and as she’d expected, did not seem to have any effect. “Mr. Baratheon has made it quite clear that if you ever bite Shireen again, you won't be allowed in his house anymore.”

“I wasn’t trying to hurt her,” Rickon mumbled. “We were playing tag.”

“It doesn’t matter what you were playing,” Cat replied. “Biting isn’t appropriate for third-graders. You need to find another way to express…whatever you want to express.”

“Shireen didn’t mind,” insisted Rickon. “I didn’t even break the skin this time. She was more upset that her dad made me leave.”

Cat sighed. “Well, her father minds, and so do I,” she said as the Starks’ van pulled into the garage. “And I agree with him. If you bite Shireen again, you can't play with her anymore.” She looked at her youngest son, expecting an apology or a promise or at least an explanation.

However, Rickon continued to look annoyed. He got out of the car, ignoring his mother. “Shaggy!” he called, running off into the backyard to find his monster of a dog.

Cat watched her youngest son disappear into the wilderness, off to play with that dog of his who bit more people than he did. She was beginning to realize that her five anti-biting lectures had been a waste of time; she couldn’t get through to Rickon, not on this matter. Cat was seconds away from abandoning all hope and letting her son run with the wild beasts forever…until it hit her.

She couldn’t get through to Rickon. But perhaps somebody else could.

 

* * *

 

About three hours later that night, each of the Stark children (except for the Cannibal himself) found a note under their door.

_Family meeting tomorrow night in the living room at 10. I know you’re all free, so don’t be late._


	2. they roared their terrible roars

Stark family meetings were rare for two reasons. First of all, everyone was usually extremely busy with work, cooking dinner, baking dessert (usually lemon cakes), hockey games, soccer practice, fencing lessons, chorus concerts, art class, band practice, going to the aquarium to satisfy their best friend’s weird sea creature obsession, making sure their dog doesn’t eat the neighbors, homework, procrastinating homework, _pretending_ to be doing homework but actually hacking into their sister’s computer to find future blackmail, or whatever else they had in store that day. And second, the last few Stark family meetings-as did Stark family movie nights, Stark family game nights, and most Stark family events in general- had ended in arguments.

One by one, the Stark children descended from their rooms and approached the living room with heavy hearts. They knew this meeting had to be serious business; after the countless family meetings that had gone disastrously, Catelyn would never call one for no reason. Something huge had to be going on. But what?

 

* * *

 

At 10 P.M., Cat approached the living room, ready for business. It was past Rickon’s 9:45 bedtime (although she knew that he stayed up later than that playing with his action figures), so she didn't have to worry about him overhearing or causing any distractions.

In an ideal world, Ned would have been able to attend the family meeting. However, he’d been called back to the police station an hour ago to investigate a case that had sprung up out of the blue. Cat had tried to explain the Rickon situation to him over supper, but Ned, tired from a full day of work and annoyed at having to return to the station, was indifferent at best. “It’s just a phase,” he’d said through a mouthful of pork chops. “He’s probably doing it for attention- he’s the youngest, after all. He’ll grow out of it before long.”

But “before long” wasn’t good enough for Cat. Not when Mr. Luwin had repeatedly expressed his concerns about Rickon's behavior in the classroom and his worries for the other children's safety. Not when Stannis Baratheon was not only questioning her parenting skills, but also was on the brink of banning Rickon from playing with his best friend. She needed options, and she needed them fast.

Cat surveyed the scene in the living room- thankfully, none of the kids had forgotten. Robb was slumped on the couch, probably tired from hockey practice. Sansa was already in her pajamas, her long red hair still drying from the shower. Arya was repeatedly throwing and catching a tennis ball she’d found god-knows-where, trying to get Bran to put down his copy of _The Fellowship of the Ring_ and play catch with her. Even Jon was there, Cat noticed begrudgingly. She hadn’t invited Ned’s son to the family meeting; one of the others must have spread the word. Telling Jon to leave, however, would require acknowledging his existence more than necessary- and if he had a good suggestion, well, she was desperate enough to take his advice. Honestly, at this point she’d be willing to sit down and listen to Grey Wind if he knew how to stop Rickon from biting (and if he could speak English).

“Ah, good, you're all here,” Cat said as she stepped into the room, smiling at her children and trying to avoid making eye contact with Jon. “I’m glad you all got my message, and none of you forgot like last time.” She raised her eyebrows at Robb.

“I’ve apologized for that about five hundred times, Mom,” Robb replied exasperatedly. “And can we make this quick? Theon’s waiting for me on Skype.”

“I’m sure Theon has plenty of other things to do besides Skype you,” Jon remarked with a grimace from beside him on the couch. “You know- drink, smoke, eat enough food for ten families, be a huge jerk…” Robb looked a little offended by Jon’s comments, but didn’t deny them.

“I think it’s sweet that you don’t want to keep Theon waiting, Robb,” Sansa interrupted, with a reproachful glance at Jon. "And he's not  _that_ bad. I mean, if you overlook..."

“All right, you can debate Theon Greyjoy's moral character after the meeting,” said Cat, quickly stopping the kids before they got into another Theon argument. “We’ve got more important things to discuss- namely, Rickon.”

“What about him?” asked Arya, continuing to throw and catch the tennis ball. “Did he break into the snack cupboard again?” Everyone looked nervous- the last time Rickon broke into the snack cupboard was a terrible time in the Stark household, and nobody wished to relive that experience.

“Thankfully, no,” Cat said quickly. She could feel the relief wash over the room. “This meeting has to do with his, er, interesting way of handling conflicts.”

“Oh, no,” Arya mock-groaned. “Did he eat someone _again_? How important were they- movie star? Athlete? President?” This earned her a few laughs from Jon and Robb. Sansa giggled, and even Bran looked up from his book to smile at his sister.

“No,” Cat replied, slightly exasperated- as she had feared, they weren’t taking this seriously. “But he did bite Shireen Baratheon for the second time in two months, and her father seems to think Ned and I are raising some sort of savage colony. And don’t even think about making any jokes,” she added, noticing that both Robb and Arya had opened their mouths. “Anyway, I’ve tried and tried to explain to Rickon that he’s too old to still be biting people, but nothing seems to work. His teachers are concerned, he won’t be able to play with Shireen anymore if this keeps up…” She paused, glancing from face to face. “What I’m trying to say is, I need your help.”

“You need our help...with convincing Rickon to stop biting,” Robb repeated. “Mom, I know I make cannibal jokes all the time, but it’s not like Rickon’s feasting on human flesh. He _occasionally_ bites kids he gets into disagreements with, or plays with. He’ll grow out of it in a few years." _Robb's truly his father's son_ , Cat thought with a sigh.

“Plus, regarding the thing with Shireen- maybe he likes her,” Sansa added. “And, like most people with crushes, he has trouble expressing his feelings.” Cat had the feeling that her last comment was directed toward someone else in the room, but she couldn't determine who.

“Biting someone is a pretty weird way to show you like them,” Arya muttered.

“Please,” Sansa scoffed, “you punch Gendry all the time, and you don’t hate him, do you?” She smiled slyly. Arya suddenly seemed to be very interested in how high she could throw her tennis ball.

“All right, girls, let’s stay focused,” said Cat, noticing the slight flush in Arya’s cheeks that hadn’t been there a minute ago. “Of course I know that Rickon won’t be biting people as an adult. But I do think it would be good to show him other ways to express his feelings. Or show him how other people see his biting habit.”

“None of us bite anyone," Bran said, speaking for the first time. “Therefore, aren’t we setting a good example, and helping him by default?”

It took Cat all the willpower she had not to groan.

 

* * *

 

At 10:30 P.M., Rickon wasn’t asleep- he was never asleep before 11. And his mom’s insistence that he leave Shaggydog outside for the night and go to bed at 9:45 only fueled his desire to stay up late further. One day he’d be allowed to stay up as late as Bran and Arya-or better, his parents wouldn’t pay attention to what time he went to bed at all, like they did with Robb, Jon, and Sansa. For now, he had to settle with playing with his action figures and reading comic books past lights-out, and the sense of pride he got for secretly defying his parents _almost_ made the horrible early bedtime worth it.

Tonight, however, he was even more restless than usual. The plastic club-toting cavemen, vicious wolves, man-eating dinosaurs, and wooly mammoths were engaged in a life-or-death battle (with fifteen casualties so far), but Rickon couldn’t wholeheartedly focus on his game. His mind kept drifting back to that afternoon at Shireen’s, and Mr. Baratheon’s angry voice. Rickon didn’t hear what Shireen’s dad had told his mother, but he could tell it made her really upset.

Shireen hadn’t minded him biting her, he was sure of it. If only her dad hadn’t happened to be watching them play tag in the Baratheons’ backyard. But would he really not allow Rickon to play with Shireen anymore?

 _ROAR!_ One of the action figure dinosaurs took out a caveman. Rickon didn’t find most girls in his class that great, he admitted to himself- they didn’t like most of his favorite games, and cared too much about clothes. But Shireen was different. He liked the way she helped other kids with their homework, and how she once caught and saved a frog during recess. Shireen knew how other kids talked about her behind her back, about the skin on her face, but it didn’t seem to bother her. And she wasn’t afraid of Shaggy.

Rickon’s thoughts were interrupted by the sound of laughter from downstairs. His brothers, it sounded like. Having fun without him, of course, because they weren’t confined to their rooms. _One day,_ he told himself, as the battle between plastic man and beast carried on.

 

* * *

 

At 10:45 P.M., Cat was beginning to lose hope.

After more failed discussions of Rickon, and more off-topic arguments, the kids had gotten distracted. Robb, Jon and Arya had started an in-depth conversation about baseball. Sansa had taken her phone out. And Bran had gone back to reading. To top it all off, some of the dogs- Grey Wind and Nymeria, by the sound of it- were loudly reminding the family that they hadn’t been taken out for their nightly walk.

“Mom, I think the dogs are going to make us all deaf if we don’t walk them,” Arya remarked exasperatedly. “Is the meeting over yet?”

“I’d let you go, but we still haven’t decided what we’re going to do about Rickon,” Cat said. It had been a long day, and she was probably more worn out than any of the kids. But she couldn't let this meeting end without a solution. 

“I told you, it’s just a phase,” Robb replied. “We all went through phases.”

“Yeah, like Sansa used to wet the bed,” Arya added. Sansa rolled her eyes, but apparently decided that it wasn't a battle worth fighting.

“Anyway, he won’t be able to get away with biting in high school,” finished Robb. “The last kid at our school who bit someone got sent to a psych ward.”

“Can’t one of you at least talk to him?” asked Cat, attempting to cling to the shreds of hope she had left. “Explain to him that biting is wrong. He won’t listen to me, but you're all closer to his age. There's a better chance he'll listen to you.”

The kids sighed and shrugged and grumbled- clearly unwilling. Surprisingly, it was Bran who spoke up. “I’ll try and talk to him,” he said, “if I get to stay up until 11:30 on weekends instead of 11.”

Cat turned toward her son, surprised by his suggestion at first. Then she realized its brilliance. _Of course_. She’d been a fool for thinking that her kids would do her job for her without some kind of incentive, especially since none of them cared much about the matter. But if she offered them some kind of reward...once again, her twelve-year-old son had surprised her with his wisdom.

“Yes, you can,” Cat said. Bran initially looked shocked, but a smile slowly spread over his face. “And same goes for the rest of you," Cat continued, her voice growing stronger and more confident. "If you talk to Rickon and try to convince him that biting isn’t the way to go, you can have some sort of reward. Anything you come up with, as long as Ned and I approve it. Are we agreed?”

There was a murmur of assent from the room. Bran, Arya, and Sansa looked excited about this development. Robb smiled, but it was clear he wanted nothing more than to leave the living room. Even Jon nodded.

“Excellent,” said Cat, as the relief washed over her. “Tell me when you come up with your incentive, and I want a full report on each of your conversations with Rickon.” _Five children-one of them has to get through to him_ , Cat told herself. All of her problems could be solved, Rickon could keep his friends, and nobody would think the Stark family was some sort of wild wolf pack ever again.

“Can we leave now?” asked Arya as she played catch with Jon.

“Yes, yes!” Cat exclaimed, unable to hide her smile. If she could still do cartwheels, she would’ve done a dozen right down the living room rug. “Family meeting dismissed!”

Cat had never seen five children leave a room so fast.


	3. let the wild rumpus start

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Laziness is my only excuse for how long this took, but enjoy!

It hadn’t taken the Stark children long to come up with their rewards for participating in Catelyn’s grand scheme. Robb had asked for a new video game that he and Theon would inevitably stay up until 4 A.M playing. Sansa asked for a spa day with Jeyne Poole. Arya’s choice was a trip to the sporting goods store to pick out new soccer cleats; she’d initially asked for a flat-screen TV, which made it necessary for Cat to establish a price limit. Jon wanted two hours per week of uninterrupted garage time for his band to practice. Cat had reluctantly accepted his request, vowing that she’d go out of her way to make her supermarket trips during those hours. And of course, Bran had his extended curfew.

As Cat ironed one of Sansa's blouses, she hummed a song that she and Ned had danced to at their wedding. She was confident that at least _one_ of the children would make a breakthrough in the Rickon case. They all remembered being Rickon’s age more clearly than she did. Perhaps they’d appeal to their inner eight-year-old boy and put a stop to this madness.

Surely one of them could change the Cannibal's ways.

 

* * *

 

Shaggydog growled and barked at an innocent passerby, who looked understandably shocked at being harassed by a black-haired, green-eyed demon dog. Any other dog owner would’ve told Shaggy to be quiet, but Rickon just laughed gleefully.

Bran and Summer followed a few feet behind, moving much more quietly. The rest of the Stark children were allowed to walk their dogs alone, but both Rickon and Shaggydog understandably needed supervision. Since Bran was the closest to Rickon’s age, he was always stuck accompanying his younger brother on his walks. Usually, this duty annoyed Bran; Rickon liked to rush ahead as fast as possible, whereas Bran preferred to take his time and look at the flowers and trees. However, Bran saw this particular walk as an opportunity.

While Shaggy terrorized the neighbors and Rickon watched him in delight, Bran wheeled his chair up beside Rickon. “So,” he asked, “how’s everything going?”

Rickon shrugged in reply. “Shaggy’s being really funny,” he finally answered.

Bran didn’t see the humor in terrifying pedestrians by demonically growling at them, but to each his own. “Well, I’ve got something to talk to you about,” he said to his brother. “We’ve all got friends, right? Like, I’ve got Meera and Jojen Reed, and you’ve got the Walders and Shireen.”

“Yeah,” Rickon replied.

“Well, there are things that are okay to do to our friends, and there are things we _shouldn’t_ do to our friends,” Bran continued. “For example, we can bake a cake for our friends. But we shouldn’t punch them in the face.”

“We should punch them in the face if they deserve it, though,” Rickon protested.

“ _No_ , we shouldn’t,” replied Bran. No wonder Rickon had a biting problem; the kid's priorities were somewhat off. “What about biting? Is that something we should do to our friends?”

“If they don’t mind it,” said Rickon matter-of-factly.

Bran gazed at his brother incredulously. “No, we shouldn’t bite our friends _at all_ ,” he said slowly. “In fact, we shouldn’t even bite our enemies.”

“We should _definitely_ bite our enemies,” insisted Rickon.

“ _No_!” Bran exclaimed, starting to lose his patience. “We shouldn’t bite our friends, or our enemies, or _anybody_ , unless they’re made out of chocolate. If I bit Meera Reed, she’d think I was insane and wouldn't talk to me anymore. Do you get it?”

Rickon looked at Bran indignantly, but said nothing. Bran couldn’t tell if he didn’t understand what had been said or if he just didn’t want to listen; probably the latter, since Rickon was usually a pretty sharp kid. Then Rickon tugged on Shaggydog’s leash, and started sprinting down the street. His gigantic black dog bounded along beside him.

Bran stroked Summer’s head as he watched Rickon and Shaggy disappear. Honestly, he was starting to regret agreeing to talk to Rickon in the first place. He’d just thrown the idea of a later curfew out on a whim, not expecting he'd actually get one; clearly he’d underestimated how desperate his mom was. But if Rickon was going to be this difficult to everyone, Bran and his siblings might have started a war that was impossible to win.

 

* * *

 

Jon _really_ didn’t want to be part of the crusade to prevent Rickon from eating his classmates. He had no idea how to stop an eight-year-old from biting; honestly, he wished he’d been brave enough to bite a few of the kids who’d made fun of him during his elementary school days. And he certainly didn’t owe Mrs. Stark any favors.

But the chance to use the garage for band practice, without _any_ interruptions from the family? That offer was too good to pass up.

Of course, Jon hadn’t figured out how to solve Rickon’s problem himself. He’d called in a professional.

“Jon, I don’t know if this is a good idea,” protested Sam Tarly. He and Jon were quietly approaching the kitchen, where Rickon was feasting on a Kentucky Fried Chicken leg (he liked to gnaw on the bones afterward, prompting further cannibalism jokes). “You know your brother much better than I do.”

“But you’re an expert at this kind of thing,” Jon replied, pushing Sam toward the kitchen door. And it was _technically_ true. Sam worked at an animal shelter, specializing in kittens; he’d probably had tons of experience with small creatures that bite. Plus, Sam helped take care of his girlfriend Gilly’s baby. True, Gilly’s son hadn’t even begun teething yet, but all that diaper-changing and rocking to sleep had to amount to some kind of parenting skill.

“I work with _animals_ ,” Sam objected, pausing in front of the kitchen door.

“Kittens, puppies, Rickon, there’s not really much of a difference,” Jon replied with a shrug. "They're all small, they all bite, and they all can be cured."

Sam mumbled something under his breath and approached the kitchen slowly. Jon could see the panic in his eyes, and wondered if he’d exaggerated the urgency of the situation.

“You know he’s not really a cannibal, right?” asked Jon.

“Of course,” Sam replied with a laugh that was clearly forced.

“Good,” Jon said, patting Sam on the shoulder. “Now go help my brother, and I promise we’ll go out for ice cream later.” He watched Sam until his best friend had disappeared behind the kitchen door, and then went into the living room. Jon lay down on the couch and took out a manga to read, confident Sam wouldn't fail him.

           

Jon never found out what exactly happened in the kitchen. One moment loud screaming echoed from behind the kitchen door; the next moment, the door burst open and Sam sprinted out of the kitchen, running faster than Jon had ever seen him move in his life. Sam’s face was white as a sheet, his eyes were wide, and his hand was bleeding. Rickon had broken the skin in more than one place.

“Y-you know I don’t like blood,” Sam stuttered, as Jon wrapped gauze around his hand.

“I didn’t think he’d _bite_ you,” Jon replied, astounded. “What were you saying to him?”

But Sam only shuddered and gulped, trying not to cry.

“I’m so sorry,” Jon added, mentally punching himself in the face about fifty times.

Jon took Sam out for ice cream anyway. He even _paid_ for Sam's ice cream. And he promised multiple times that Sam would never have to go near Rickon again.

 

* * *

 

“I still think this whole thing is bullshit,” Theon Greyjoy groaned, following Robb downstairs. “We were just about to level up!”

“You didn’t have to come with me,” replied Robb, who wasn’t too enthusiastic himself. He and Theon had spent all afternoon playing _Mass Effect 3_ while feasting popcorn, Swedish Fish, and Coke; true paradise. That was, until Robb remembered what was surely the dumbest thing his mom had ever asked him to do, and dropped his console in frustration (after which, Theon shoved him off the bed and Grey Wind started barking like crazy). Much to Theon’s dismay, Robb figured he’d better get it over with now. He’d probably forget again within the next hour, and he certainly didn’t want to find out what his mom would do if he forgot.

Theon shrugged. “We ate all the food in your room,” he said. “I'm hungry, and the kitchen's on the way."

Robb wasn’t complaining. Suffering through this with Theon would be slightly better than suffering alone. Maybe Theon could even help him; much to their parents’ dismay, Rickon idolized Theon and was always interested in what he had to say. Plus, Robb didn’t trust Theon alone with _Mass Effect 3_  - he always threw things at the monitor when he got frustrated and had nearly cost them the game a couple of times.

“Well, the sooner we do this, the sooner we can go back to playing,” Robb sighed. “Now let’s go find him.”

After stopping by the kitchen (where Theon snagged an apple and three Hello Dollies), they headed to the place the Cannibal had last been spotted- the backyard. Sure enough, Rickon was running around the yard, playing with Shaggydog. Robb supposed Rickon and Shaggy were playing fetch, although their version of fetch seemed to consist of Rickon throwing a bone to Shaggy and then spending five minutes getting the bone out of his dog’s mouth so he could throw it again.

“Hey, Rickon,” said Robb, approaching his brother. Theon followed, but his pace had slowed down since seeing Shaggydog. Like his owner, Shaggy had developed a weird attachment to Theon over the years; one that Theon definitely _did not_ reciprocate.

“Hey, Robb,” Rickon replied. He gave his brother a casual wave, then went back to work. “Shaggy, let go. Let _go._ ”

"The dog can’t understand you,” Theon called, still giving Shaggy a wide berth. “Try howling; it’ll work better.”

Rickon noticed Theon for the first time, and his face lit up. “Theon!” he exclaimed. “Do you want to play fetch with me and Shaggy? Robb can play too,” he added as an afterthought.

Robb supposed he should be insulted by the fact that Rickon preferred Theon’s company over his. But honestly, he was glad at least one of his siblings liked Theon.

Theon paled. “Uh, that would be fun, but we can’t right now,” he said quickly. “Nope, we _definitely_ can’t do that. Robb’s going to talk to you about…what were you going to talk about, Robb?” He turned to Robb, a smile playing on his lips.

Robb sighed. “I’m here to talk about biting,” he began. “And how it’s, uh…not okay.” Theon snorted from behind him.

“Not again,” Rickon muttered under his breath. He’d finally freed the bone from Shaggydog’s mouth, and hurled it across the yard before turning to face Robb. Shaggy sprinted after it, panting and barking loud enough to wake the dead. “What about biting isn’t okay?” Rickon asked defiantly.

“Well,” Robb began, “it’s not a good way to express your feelings. It can hurt people, and adults don’t like it.” Robb paused; it wasn't like he'd given an anti-biting lecture to an eight-year-old before, and he had no idea how to continue. He threw a pleading glance at Theon, who was watching from a distance, as if to say _Help me_. Theon smirked back at him and raised his eyebrows. Robb got the message clear as day:  _You're on your own_.

When Robb turned back to Rickon, he found he’d lost his brother’s attention once more. Shaggydog had reappeared with the bone, and Rickon was attempting to pry it from his mouth yet again. “Maybe as a baby, biting was acceptable, but it isn’t anymore,” Robb continued, desperately fishing for a way to appeal to Rickon. "And when you’re older, you _can’t_ bite anyone, or you’ll get in huge trouble.”

Robb heard loud laughter from behind him, and turned around to glare at Theon. However, Theon’s amusement was enough for Rickon to turn around. “What’s so funny?” asked Rickon, clearly wanting to be in on the joke.

Theon smiled his _I’m going to cause trouble and there’s nothing you can do about it_ smile, and Robb knew he was doomed.

“Well,” said Theon, grinning from ear to ear, “I don’t know about Robb, but I’ve found _many_ uses for biting in my old age.”

Oh, god. Robb knew where this conversation was going, and he didn't like it one bit. “Theon, _shut up_ ,” Robb muttered.

It was too late. Rickon was gazing as if Theon was holding a ten-foot-long steak. “Really?” he asked, excited. “You bite? And you don’t get in trouble for it?”

“Of course,” replied Theon, smiling superiorly. “Ask Kyra from down the street, she’s still got a mark on her neck where I bit her a few days ago.”

That did it. “Okay, we’re getting out of here,” said Robb quickly, grabbing Theon’s arm and pulling him toward the house. “Bye, Rickon, bye, Shaggy, see you at dinner.”

“But I want to hear about Theon’s biting!” Rickon exclaimed, looking after them wistfully. Robb wished his siblings who hadn’t talked to Rickon yet all the luck in the world. Now that biting was Theon-approved, it would be even harder to convince Rickon to stop.

“You'll find out when you’re older, I promise,” Theon shouted, as Robb dragged him away. “It’s a new kind of biting! One you’ll really enjoy!”

Robb waited until they’d gotten back into the house before turning to face Theon, hands on his hips. “I’m going to _kill_ you,” he hissed through clenched teeth.

Theon smiled back at Robb, unfazed. “Kid needs a reality check,” he replied with a shrug, “or he’ll turn out like you and use WikiHow before his first kiss.”

Robb tackled him to the ground. Maybe losing _Mass Effect 3_ would’ve been worth it after all.

 

* * *

          

Rickon was watching _Adventure Time_ in the living room when Arya cornered him. She plopped herself on the couch without an invitation, and turned to face her brother. “All right, how many of them have already talked to you about biting?” she asked. No use beating around the bush.

"Three,” Rickon replied, eyes fixated on Lemongrab.

“Yeah, it’s a stupid thing Mom’s making us do, in case you haven’t figured it out yet,” Arya replied. “Anyway, I could sit here and tell you to stop biting your friends, I really could. But it would just be a waste of my time, because you’re not going to stop, right?”

Rickon shrugged in response.

“Sounds good,” Arya said, ruffling her little brother’s red curls. “I’m glad we had this talk.” She left the living room feeling incredibly accomplished, visions of soccer cleats swimming through her head.

 

* * *

 

The light was on in Rickon’s room, even though it was ten at night. Sansa sighed to herself; gone were the days of bedtime stories and Rickon actually falling asleep on time. The last time their mother had come into Rickon’s room before bed, Rickon was in the middle of an action-figure war and screamed at her, claiming she “was stepping in the middle of the battlefield”. Sansa doubted she’d get a friendlier reaction, and put on her own imaginary armor to prepare herself.

She knocked at the door. “Can I come in, or is it a no-sisters-allowed zone?”

There was a pause. “If you’re not going to make me go to bed, you can come in,” was the slightly muffled reply.

“Not yet, but Mom wouldn’t be happy if she knew you were still awake,” Sansa said in a mock-disapproving tone, opening the door. She gingerly stepped through the mess of clothes, action figures, and a couple of mysterious objects that looked like leftover food strewn across Rickon’s floor- god, now she understood why Mom only cleaned his room once every few weeks. Rickon himself was seated on his bed, reading a comic book.

“What are you reading?” asked Sansa, hoping that the stickiness she thought she felt under her feet was just her imagination.

“ _The Incredible Hulk_ ,” said Rickon. “He just survived a nuclear explosion!” He punched his pillow for emphasis.

Sansa rolled her eyes slightly, and sat next to him on the bed. Rickon scooted away from her. “You know, we really haven’t talked in a while, because I’ve been so busy,” she said. “How’s everything- school, friends, soccer practice, you know?”

“Okay,” Rickon replied with a shrug. “One of the kids on my soccer team had to go to the hospital because he accidentally slammed his finger in a car door. Isn’t that awesome?”

“Yeah! _Awesome_ ,” Sansa repeated with as much enthusiasm as she could muster. “What about school? How are all your friends?”

“Okay,” was Rickon’s response once more. “Well, Little Walder told me I was cheating at Fishy Fishy Cross My Ocean on Thursday, but he stopped.” He paused. “After I shoved him in the mud.”

It took all Sansa had not to sigh in desperation; Rickon was hopeless. “How about some of your _other_ friends?” asked Sansa. “Like…Shireen. How’s she doing?”

Rickon looked at her for a few seconds, saying nothing. Then, he glared. “Oh, no, not you too,” he groaned, putting his face in his hands. “You’re going to talk to me about biting, aren’t you?”

“No, I’m not,” Sansa said quickly. She knew she had to play her cards right. “Let’s forget about that time you went over her house. How is she otherwise?”

“Can you tell me about the new kind of biting?” Rickon asked, suddenly lifting his head and gazing at Sansa intently.

Sansa stared back at him. “New kind of biting?” she repeated.

“Yeah,” Rickon replied. “Theon said there was a new kind of biting I’d learn when I’m older, but Robb wouldn’t let him tell me more about it. You’re almost as old as they are, so can you tell me?”

Although Sansa hadn’t witnessed that particular conversation, she was almost positive she knew what Theon was referring to. And she promised herself that next time she saw Theon, she’d smack him in the head for nearly corrupting an eight-year-old’s innocence. “Theon doesn’t know what he’s talking about,” Sansa said quickly. “There’s only one kind of biting. Now, back to Shireen. Do you guys hang out at school?”

Rickon looked crestfallen at hearing that the mysterious “new kind of biting” didn’t exist. “Yeah, I guess,” he grumbled. “I mean, we don’t play together at recess- I wanted to ask her to play Rats and Cats with us one time, but the Walders hate playing with girls. I sit next to her during class, though, and draw pictures on her homework. She tells me to stop, but I don’t think she really minds. She’s really smart, and knows a ton of words nobody else does.” The sullen expression faded from Rickon’s face, and was replaced by the smallest of smiles. “One time she gave half her sandwich to Tom, because his mom forgot to give him lunch again.”

 _Now_ they were getting somewhere. Sansa smiled; she’d known what was going on ever since Rickon had first brought Shireen over to play and given her one-fifth of his candy bar. That might not have seemed like much, but Sansa couldn’t remember another time Rickon had ever shared his candy.

“So, you like Shireen a lot, huh?” Sansa asked, unable to resist.

Rickon looked down, his expression somewhat sheepish. “Uh, she’s okay,” he said, seeming to be very interested in the half-eaten sandwich on the floor next to Sansa. “You know, for a girl.”

“I thought so,” Sansa replied. She got up from the bed, deciding to leave Rickon to his green rage monsters; the poor boy had undergone enough cross-examination for now. “Goodnight, Rickon. Don’t stay up too late,” she said, shutting off the lights.

“Night, Sansa,” said Rickon. He was clearly confused by the conversation's abrupt ending, but didn’t appear to be complaining. As Sansa walked down the hallway and toward the staircase, she could've sworn she heard rustling noises and the flicker of a light switch- why anyone even  _tried_ to tell Rickon what to do was beyond her knowledge.

 

Jon and Robb were waiting at the bottom of the stairs; they'd probably seen Sansa approaching Rickon’s room, and gotten curious. “How did yours go?” Jon asked Sansa when she reached them.

Sansa shrugged. “Not bad,” she replied nonchalantly. "We had a nice chat."

“Well, it couldn’t have gone worse than mine,” Jon grumbled. “The Cannibal made my best friend his next victim. Sam’s terrified to come over now. And next time he does, I’ve got to keep Rickon about a fifty-foot radius away from him at all times.”

“Yeah, well, I probably made Rickon even _more_ into biting, thanks to Theon,” Robb put in.

Sansa laughed. “We didn’t even talk about biting,” she admitted.

Her brothers stared at her. “Wasn’t that the whole point?” asked Robb incredulously. “We’re supposed to be convincing him not to bite, remember?”

“I didn’t have to talk about biting to help solve his problem,” Sansa replied with a smile. “We talked, I asked some questions. And I think I’ve got everything I need.” 


	4. off to bed without his supper

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A thousand apologies for updates being so sparse- I've been quite busy lately, but I hope to update this story more regularly in the future. (also, events will _definitely_ start moving forward in the next chapter, I promise).

“So, how’s everyone liking it?” Catelyn asked tentatively, glancing at her family like they were the jury and she was on trial for manslaughter. In Rickon’s opinion, she sounded much too nervous; the only thing on trial was her cooking.

It was a little after six P.M., which meant that the entire Stark clan (plus Theon, who Rickon swore hadn’t been to his own home in three days) was seated at the dining room table for a home-cooked dinner. And, since it was a Wednesday, Cat was testing out her new recipe of the week. Always seeking to improve her cooking, Cat had gathered a variety of recipes from magazines, websites, and Howland Reed’s trash can over the years, and had taken to testing them out on her family once per week. Some of the recipes were hits, such as the shish kebabs (although those were banned after Arya nearly poked Bran’s eye out with her empty stick). Other meals didn’t go quite so well- after one memorable dinner, the Stark children collectively agreed to never say the words “shepherd’s pie” again. Personally, Rickon would be fine with steak every night, but it wasn’t like he had any say in the matter. When he finally was allowed to move out and live on an island with Shaggy, he’d fill an  _entire refrigerator_  with steak, and not let his parents have  _any_. That would show them.

This week’s meal was lemon rosemary salmon, which Rickon wasn’t too fond of. Salmon was all right, although definitely not up to par with steak, but the  _lemon_? Rickon was sure that ruining a perfectly good piece of meat by putting fruit on top of it violated some kind of law. At least his mom also made mashed potatoes.

“It’s great, Mom,” Robb said enthusiastically, taking another bite. After countless new recipes, Rickon had gathered that everyone tended to be fairly polite when Cat asked for feedback. Their true feelings were usually indicated by the amount of food left over at the end of the meal.

“Delicious,” Arya added, driving a knife into her salmon like she had some vendetta against it.

“I'd kiss this salmon, but I'm already married,” Ned remarked, earning a smile from Cat and a few cringes from the older kids.

Theon muttered something inaudible with his mouth full.

Cat turned to Rickon, smiling extra-wide. “How about you, Rickon? How do you like your dinner?”  _Ugh._  Cat always made an extra effort to ask Rickon how he liked her home-cooked meals, especially during new recipe night. According to her, he “doesn’t eat a big enough variety of food” and “needs to expand his appetite”. Well, let’s see if she’d ever bug him again after tonight.

Rickon pursed his lips. “It tastes like…” He paused for what he hoped was a dramatic amount of time; he wasn’t allowed to watch enough movies to be completely sure. “Like Sansa,” he finally said.

For a moment, all was silent. Arya was the first to let out a snort of incredulous laughter, and Jon followed. Theon grinned and whispered something to Robb, who rolled his eyes in return. Rickon glanced over at his parents, and caught them sharing a confused look.  _Perfect._

“Like me?” Sansa turned to face Rickon, her eyebrows raised. “What are you talking about?”

Rickon was completely prepared. “You know all the lemon cakes and sweets you eat,” he answered. “If you were a food, you’d taste really lemony, I guarantee. Like this salmon.”

“Ah.” Sansa nodded slowly, clearly unsure how to react. “Well, I love lemon-flavored things, so I’m going to take that as a compliment. Thanks, Rickon. I’m glad to know that you think I’d…taste good.”

“Cannibal, cannibal, fee fi fo fannibal,” Arya softly chanted.

Ned cleared his throat. “Arya, not at the table,” he admonished. “Now, Rickon, I don’t think…”

“Robb would taste like corn on the cob,” Rickon interrupted, scrutinizing his siblings one by one, “with a bit too much butter. Jon would be Baked Alaska, obviously. Arya would be…hmm, devil’s food cake, although slightly overcooked. And Bran would taste like granola- you know, that gross-looking stuff the Reeds gave us that I thought was bird poop.”

“Granola? Well, hopefully I’ve got blueberries in me." Bran shrugged.

“I hate Baked Alaska,” Jon said with an exaggerated groan. “That means I hate how I taste. I’m going to develop an inferiority complex.” He put his face in his hands.

“Overcooked?” Arya rolled her eyes. “Please, I’m the best devil’s food cake you’re ever going to eat.”

“What food would I be?” Theon asked eagerly.

Rickon thought for a moment before answering. “Tuna casserole.”

“Gross.” Theon leaned back in his chair, looking slightly dejected, before turning to Bran. “Hey, Branola, can you pass me some Sansa-flavored salmon?”

Cat, who’d been sitting silently for the entire conversation, finally cleared her throat. “Theon, that's  _enough_ ,” she said with a glare that was enough to wipe the smile off Theon Greyjoy's face. Then, Cat turned to Rickon, who braced himself.

“And Rickon, you should know that this kind of conversation is completely inappropriate for the dinner table. Now, what do you have to say for yourself?”

Rickon smiled back innocently. “I’m sorry, Mom.” Another hopefully-dramatic pause. “I forgot to tell you what food you’d be! Fried _cat_ fish!”

The room was suddenly filled with the sound of six kids desperately trying to hide their giggles. Even Ned let out a snort, although he was quickly silenced by his wife’s glare.

“Rickon Stark!” Cat exclaimed indignantly. “You know what…just go to your room. Right now. I think not being able to finish your dinner is enough of a punishment.”

Rickon slowly got up from his chair. He quickly glanced at his siblings; although Robb and Sansa looked appropriately solemn at the occasion, Arya grinned at Rickon and shot him a mock-salute. And it might have been his imagination, but he could've sworn Theon winked at him. Finally, he met his mother’s stony gaze, and smiled back at her innocently before turning on his heel and marching the kitchen. He hoped she got his message loud and clear: the battle was on.

Everyone’s reactions had _almost_  been worth missing the rest of dinner, Rickon mused as he walked up the stairs. He didn’t care about the salmon, but it was a shame to waste a bunch of perfectly good bites of mashed potatoes.

 

* * *

 

Catelyn nearly groaned out loud at the sound of footsteps in the hallway, and gingerly opened her eyes. She’d been lying down on the living room couch, relaxing- well, “lying down with her eyes closed and her heart racing, stressing about the past, present, and future” would be a more accurate way of phrasing it, but any innocent passerby would probably  _think_  she was relaxing. But those footsteps intercepted her train of thought, and Cat prepared herself for the storm.

Fortunately, it was Ned who walked into the room, and Cat breathed a sigh of relief. “I thought you were one of the kids,” she admitted, as she sat up on the couch to make room for her husband.

“Cat, I’m ashamed of you,” Ned replied with mock indignance. “We’ve been married for twenty-one years, and you still can’t recognize my footsteps.” He laughed, sitting down beside her.

“You know I’ve got a lot more than footstep identification to worry about,” Cat said with a sigh.

Ned nodded. “True. So what’s the status?”

Despite herself, Cat smiled, and began counting off on her fingers. “Robb and Theon went upstairs with three bags of potato chips and season two of  _Arrested Development_  an hour ago,” she began. “Sansa’s on the front porch- she claims she’s doing homework, but every time I’ve looked out there she’s been on her phone. Arya went across the street to play soccer with Mycah, but they'll probably get in another fight and she'll be back within an hour. Bran took Summer for a walk in the park. Unless Rickon has figured out how to climb out his window, he's been in the same place since dinnertime.” Cat paused, and begrudgingly lifted a sixth finger. “And judging by the muffled sounds of screaming and electric guitars coming from upstairs, Jon’s up in his room with his music on again.”

“At least he keeps his door closed,” Ned replied softly, but didn’t press the subject any further. Over the years, they’d come to a mutual agreement to stop arguing about Jon. Ned’s son was generally well-behaved; well, aside from the _awful_ music he listened to in his spare time, the equally awful music his band played during their sparse practice sessions, and his questionable taste in friends (Sam Tarly was a very sweet boy, but Pyp and Grenn were another story). However, Cat could never truly think of him as one of her own children, just as Jon could never think of her as his mother. The two of them tolerated one another, but rarely interacted; and Ned, despite his strong emphasis on family values, had accepted this fact. “Well, glad to know everyone’s in one piece,” Ned continued, taking Cat’s hand in his. “You look exhausted, is everything all right?”

Cat raised her eyebrows at her husband. “Of course it's not. My youngest son just compared me to a fried catfish.”

“Oh, come on, Cat, you know Rickon was joking.” 

“Yes, but he was joking because he knew it would bother me,” Cat looked her husband in the eyes. “I don’t think he realizes how serious this is. He’s biting at an age where it’s completely unacceptable, Stannis Baratheon clearly told me that he won’t be able to see Shireen anymore if he bites again, and he still thinks there's nothing wrong with what he's doing! I’ve tried reasoning with him, giving examples, explaining that it’s wrong…hell, I’ve even gotten the other kids to talk to him, and none of them could help. Well, Sansa said that her talk with him was ‘promising’, but she wouldn’t give me any specifics, and his little display at dinner showed that he's angry about our intervention. I just…Ned, I don’t know what to do.” Cat closed her eyes and leaned back against the couch, sinking deeper into the faux leather.

“Catelyn, I don’t understand why this bothers you so much,” Ned replied after a few seconds of hesitation. “I’ve told you, it’s just a phase that Rickon will inevitably grow out of once he learns that biting isn’t socially acceptable. And you know how stubborn he is; I think he’s kept this up so long because you’ve made such a fuss about it. Maybe it’s time to let him be.”

“I can’t.” Cat paused. Her husband had raised a good question- exactly why did she care about Rickon’s problem so much? After momentarily wracking her brain, coming up with the answer wasn't too difficult. “I guess…when I talked to Stannis that time I had to pick Rickon up from Shireen’s, he seemed to think that Rickon’s biting problem was my fault. He thought I’d somehow raised him that way. And I just…I just want to make sure I’m raising my children right, you know? Make sure they’ve turned out okay? And sometimes I’m scared that I’m not, and I feel like a failure. That’s the reason.” Her voice had faltered by the end of it, and she felt somewhat ashamed. She'd tried so hard to be strong over the years, to set a good example for her children, and she rarely let her outer defenses crumble- even in front of Ned.

Ned fell silent for a few moments. “Cat,” he finally said, voice soft and full of affection, “you’ve done the best job of raising the kids I could ever ask for.” Cat opened her eyes, and saw that her husband was softly smiling. “I’ve always been so busy with work, and haven't been there for the kids as much as I wanted to, and you’ve been working so hard to raise them since Robb was a baby. Anyone who says you’re a failure- as a mother, as a wife, as a human being, for God's sake- doesn’t know what he’s talking about. If Stannis Baratheon ever says anything like that again to you, I’ll give him a piece of my mind. And look at the kids. Haven’t they all turned out all right so far?”

Cat nodded, blinking back a few tears that had sprung up out of nowhere. “Yes, of course, they’re all wonderful.”

“Exactly, and I’m sure Rickon will turn out just the same,” Ned continued. “Blaming yourself for Rickon’s biting is like blaming yourself for Arya’s tendency for violence, or Sansa’s continued obsession with teenage boys, or the fact that Robb still hangs around with Theon Greyjoy. Some things you've just got to let them figure out on their own.”

"I guess you're right,” Cat replied, wishing she was as confident in her capabilities as Ned was.

Ned leaned in toward his wife. “Now, will you promise me you’ll take your mind off Rickon and come watch  _Law & Order_ with me, since according to your status report, none of the kids are in the basement?”

Cat grinned. Although she usually didn't have much time to watch television, and there were probably a dozen other things she should be doing instead, she'd never been able to pass up an episode of _Law & Order_. She vowed she'd  _try_  not to dwell as much on the whole Rickon situation, at least for the rest of the night, and kissed her husband's bearded cheek. "All right, dear...if you make me popcorn."

 

* * *

 

The next day, at about four o’clock in the afternoon, Bran received a text from Sansa. The text explained that Sansa had an old butterfly net that she no longer used anymore, and she was wondering if Bran would like to use it for the next time he went frog catching with the Reeds. She asked him to meet her in the basement at seven o’clock, where she’d give him the net, as well as some pointers for using it.

Three minutes later, Arya’s phone vibrated, and she was grateful for an excuse to look away from Hot Pie and Lommy (who were currently seeing who could stuff the most cookies in their mouth at once). It was from Sansa, who'd just heard the most  _shocking_  rumor about Vice Principal Varys, and wanted to tell Arya- but it wasn't appropriate for Bran and Rickon to hear, so they'd have to go in the basement around seven to talk about it. Arya grinned. Although she and her sister didn’t see eye-to-eye on a lot of things, she had to admit that Sansa’s gossip was usually golden.

Four minutes later, Robb took a break from playing gummy-worm poker with Theon to read Sansa's text, which asked him to help her with some chemistry homework in the basement later that night. ("Tell her you can't, because you've got a date...with your right hand," Theon had suggested, which caused Robb to launch about twelve gummy worms at his best friend's head.)

And six minutes later, Jon was unexpectedly woken up from his nap by the sound of Black Veil Brides’ “Knives and Pens” resonating from his phone, and disgruntledly read a new text from his sister. He raised his eyebrows- apparently Sansa had developed an interest in heavy metal music, and she wanted to him to play a few of his favorite songs for her at seven that night in the basement. That seemed a little odd for his pop-and-folk-music-loving sister, but Jon was happy to share his (self-proclaimed) excellent taste in music with anyone who'd listen. Maybe she was going through a phase.

Each kid replied to their texts and confirmed their meetings with Sansa, not thinking anything about the matter was unusual. None of them knew that they’d just signed up for a role in their sister’s latest scheme.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> special thanks to [Pip](http://archiveofourown.org/users/airyclaire) and [Sasha](http://archiveofourown.org/users/elendventure) for helping me determine what kind of food each of the Stark children would be. you two truly have a remarkable talent.


	5. mischief of one kind and another

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, hello there. Long time, no see.
> 
> Many, many apologies for the lack of updates! I've been incredibly busy, but I'm glad people are still reading and enjoying this story.

Sansa Stark sat on the basement’s deluxe massage chair, smile wide and eyes alight with mischief. She turned her head toward the couch, where the rest of her siblings, minus Rickon (and plus Theon, who’d been greeted with exasperated groans and a “You’re still here?” from Jon) were slouched.

“I bet you’re wondering why I’ve called you here today.”

“To tell us about the Avengers initative,” Jon replied unenthusiastically. “I don’t know, but it’s obviously more important than wanting to hear some of my _music_ , considering you _lied to me about that_!”

Sansa couldn't help but feel a twinge of guilt. Her half-brother did take his music quite seriously, and he’d been hurt to discover Sansa actually didn’t want to listen to the fifty-song playlist he'd gone through the trouble of making her. But getting Jon out of his room was a difficult task; one that nobody in the family had completely mastered. She'd had to take extreme measures.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t listen to songs where the singers sound like they're in horrible pain. I've heard enough screaming during concerts.” Sansa grinned at her brother. “But if you ever want to talk about music…are you _sure_ you don’t want to listen to the new 1D album?”

Jon shook his head rapidly, eyes wide with terror. “For the last time, I’d rather cut my foot off and feed it to Ghost.”

“If you ever end up doing that, let me know, because I want to watch,” Arya told her brother, before meeting Sansa's gaze and crossing her arms. “But can we get to the point? I’m growing old over here.”

“Sorry, sorry, I know, and this won’t take too long,” Sansa replied, forcing herself to save Jon’s musical conversion for another day. “We’ve got to talk about Rickon.”

The response was almost instantaneous; Robb slightly rolled his eyes, Jon let out a muffled groan, Arya leaned her head further back against the couch, and even Bran gave a somewhat exasperated sigh.

Surprisingly, it was Theon who spoke up first. “All right, can we talk about his hilarious little stunt at dinner last night?” he asked, looking up from his phone and smiling. “It was obvious he did the whole thing to piss you guys off. You know, because of the whole biting intervention thing. Kid’s going places.”

Jon, whose expression had grown significantly darker since Theon had started speaking, glowered at his brother’s best friend. “Yeah,” he put in, “my favorite part was when he said you were a tuna casserole, because you smell about as good as one.”

Sansa waved her hands in an attempt to silence them. “Yeah, the cannibal thing at dinner was funny, although Mom’s going to be reeling for days,” she continued. “But that’s not what I want to talk about. I think I know the reason Rickon keeps biting- well, aside from the whole ‘I’m going to do the opposite of what everyone tells me because I’m a stubborn third-grader’ complex.” She smiled triumphantly, and paused.

Five blank faces stared at her in return.

“Well?” Arya gazed at her, unimpressed. “Tell us why.”

“You guys are boring,” Sansa lamented. “Come on, why do you _think_ Rickon bites?” She leaned toward them; after all, _everything_ was better when you made a guessing game out of it.

Robb shrugged. “For fun?”

“Because Mom stopped giving him snacks after dinner?” Bran suggested.

“Clearly, he’s on his way to becoming a flesh-eating zombie,” Jon said dramatically, earning snickers from Arya and Bran and an eye-roll from Theon. “The virus has spread to one of us. We must find the cure before it’s too late.”

“No, no, and Jon, you really need to lay off the horror movies.” Sansa shook her head disapprovingly. “Come on, why do all kids do dumb things, even when they know they aren’t supposed to do them?”

“Because they’re _stupid_ ,” Arya remarked.

Sansa sighed; she should’ve expected as much. She knew for a fact that a good percentage of girls at school had their eye on Robb (including Jeyne Poole, who always seemed to wear tight jeans and more makeup than usual when she was over), but Robb seemed to be completely oblivious. Jon was even worse- according to Robb, he’d conveniently gone to the nurse with a "stomach bug" during the infamous Sex Video in middle school health class. Arya refused to say Gendry was anything more than “stupid”, even though Sansa had caught her checking out Gendry’s muscles not once, but _twice_ when he'd mowed their front lawn over the summer. And Bran was only twelve years old; he seemed to be more interested in Pokemon and five-hundred-page fantasy novels than finding himself a date.

Nope, Sansa wouldn’t get anything out of her siblings. It was time to talk to the expert.

She turned to Theon, who'd resumed his Snapchatting and was unsuccessfully trying to curl his tongue. “Theon, remember that time you tried to do a backflip off the diving board with your eyes closed, and almost dislocated your spine?” 

Theon looked up from his phone, eyes narrowed. “For the last time, _we don’t talk about that_ ,” he mumbled.

"God, that was terrifying." Robb shuddered, patting Theon's shoulder. “At least you only needed stitches.”

“Well, why did you do that in the first place?” Sansa persisted.

Theon paused a bit before answering. “Because Ros was on lifeguard duty."

“Exactly!” Sansa beamed. “I talked to Rickon a few days ago, and asked him about school and his friends. Now, normally Rickon isn’t much of a talker, but he _couldn’t shut up_ about Shireen Baratheon- you know, the girl he got in trouble for biting that one time. I think Rickon’s got his first crush.” She put a hand to her heart. “Isn’t that cute?”

Yet again, the rest of the crowd did not seem to share her enthusiasm.

“Not really,” Jon replied drily. “He’s eight, Sansa. The only things he should be crushing are soda cans.”

“You sound like Dad,” groaned Sansa. “ _Listen!_ Rickon clearly wants Shireen’s attention, and it seems like the only way he knows how to get it is by biting. And there’s more: Shireen’s dad apparently got really angry when Rickon bit her, and told Mom that if Rickon bites Shireen again, he won’t be allowed to play with her anymore. Now, forbidden love is normally one of my _favorite_ tropes, but I don’t think it’s good for eight-year-olds who just want to play tag and share candy in peace. We’ve got to show Rickon that there are other ways to win Shireen’s heart- ways that won’t get him reported to the police.”

“We?” Arya raised her eyebrows. “Look, unless you’re offering me a pair of shin guards to go with my new cleats, I’m done with this whole biting business. It’s Rickon’s life- if he wants to bite his friends, he can bite his friends.”

“You can intervene in Rickon’s love life all you want,” Jon added, “but don’t get us involved.”

“Guys, come _on_ ,” Sansa pleaded. “Can’t we brainstorm for twenty minutes? Remember what Dad always said about how the Stark kids should always support each other? Ohana means family? We're all in this together? Well, Rickon needs our help. And five heads are better than one.”

“There are six of us,” Bran interceded.

“Theon doesn’t count. There’s no way he’s going to suggest anything appropriate.”

Theon glared at Sansa, but then shrugged. “Probably true,” he admitted. “But one of these days, I’m going to have a good talk with Rickon, and he’ll thank me and tell me he’s so glad I told him this stuff, since all his siblings were _too lame_ …”

Luckily, Robb wisely chose that moment to stuff a bunch of Swedish Fish into his best friend’s mouth, silencing him. While Jon closed his eyes and pressed his hands together in mock prayer, Robb turned to Sansa, a knowing smile upon his face.

“I think I know what’s going on,” Robb said. “You’ve got no idea what to do. So you’re asking us for help.”

Sometimes, Sansa really liked how Robb could read her like a book. And other times, it drove her crazy. “Okay, so _maybe_ eight-year-olds aren’t exactly my area of expertise,” Sansa said with a shrug, before raising her hands in despair. “You’re right, I don’t know what to do, and it’s been bugging me for days because this _can’t_ be the third-grade version of Romeo and Juliet.”

“Well,” Robb answered, pursing his lips, “I don’t see the harm in shooting around a few ideas.” He glanced back at the couch, where Jon and Arya were thumb-wrestling, Bran was playing some sort of game on his phone, and Theon was apparently sending Snapchats of his open mouth full of Swedish fish. “And I’m sure you guys will help too, right?”

The group on the couch groaned and sighed, but Sansa knew she'd won. Once Robb agreed to something, everyone else was sure to follow.

“Fifteen minutes max,” Jon finally answered. “And then I'll go upstairs and listen to A Perfect Circle, to make up for the people around here who _won't_.” He punctuated that last statement with a glare, and Sansa sighed- it was clear he wasn’t going to let her forget the way she'd crushed his spirit.

Sansa sighed reluctantly. “Deal.”

 

* * *

 

They actually took about seventeen minutes, but Sansa chose not to mention that.

After a good round of idea-bouncing, Sansa had finally allowed everyone to evacuate the basement and get back to their homework, socializing, heavy metal music, TV watching, terrorizing the neighbors, or whatever they'd been up to that Thursday night. Many ideas had been shot down; for instance, there was no way any of the Starks would allow Theon to teach Rickon his best pick-up lines, despite his persistence. And some ideas were just too difficult to accomplish- although Arya’s suggestion of taking Shireen on a wildlife safari in Africa would certainly be impressive, it was nearly impossible when taking the Stark family budget into account. However, in the end they’d managed to come up with a decent list of suggestions.

**THINGS RICKON CAN DO TO IMPRESS SHIREEN (THAT WON’T MAKE SHIREEN’S DAD HATE HIM):**

  1. Answer questions correctly in class (and not yell out the answers like he usually does. We need to work on how we’d get him to do that. Maybe talk Mom into asking Mr. Luwin to give Rickon candy every time he raises his hand? Bribery is always the answer.)
  2. Impress her during gym class (Rickon’s very athletic, but he usually runs away and doesn’t do what the teacher tells him. Figure out how to get him to follow instructions. Again, bribery with candy is probably the best option.)
  3. Bring cool things to school and give them to Shireen ( ~~Maybe take him on a hike with Bran and the Reeds so he can find something cool and bring it back.~~  Never mind, Bran said "no way". Bran could go on a hike, then bring Rickon HOME something cool he could show Shireen. Or Rickon could just find something in the backyard, or the nearby woods. NOTHING ALIVE THOUGH. No squirrels or frogs or lizards. And none of those dead cats that Shaggy likes to dig up. That would be gross and probably really stinky.)
  4. Shireen likes reading, so if Rickon reads more books, he’d have something to talk to Shireen about. 
    * **GOOD THINGS FOR RICKON TO READ** - Diary of a Wimpy Kid, Holes, Captain Underpants, idk we googled “good books for 8 year old boys” on Robb’s phone and there are a lot of them so I’m sure we’ll find something he likes
    * **BAD THINGS FOR RICKON TO READ-** one of Bran's fantasy books because he'd get confused, Lord of the Flies (he might get ideas), anything too scary (he might get nightmares and Mom would kill us), ANYTHING THEON SUGGESTED. HE WAS LAUGHING TOO MUCH SO I'M PRETTY SURE NONE OF THOSE BOOKS ARE APPROPRIATE FOR 8-YEAR-OLDS.
    * Note: take him to the library this weekend. And don’t bring Robb, Jon, and Theon.
  5. Hang out with her during recess- maybe invite her to play with him and the Walders? Or ask her what kinds of games she likes to play, and play those games instead. (NO DODGEBALL. I don't care what Arya says. That is not romantic and someone might get hurt.)
  6. Maybe if he cuts his hair he’d impress her (or at least she might notice it and have a reason to talk to him). However, he DID bite his hairdresser the last time we tried to get him a haircut, and Mom’s scared to take him back. We'll work on that.



Sansa lay back against the plush fabric of the basement’s couch and smiled as she looked the list over, impressed with the day’s work. She was already brainstorming games for Rickon and Shireen to play during recess, and incentives for him to behave in class. With a little help from her siblings, she was _determined_ to make sure Rickon’s first crush wouldn't end in disaster. Tomorrow night, when Rickon got home from school, she’d start putting the plans she’d probably conjure up during her free period in action.

 

* * *

 

If only Sansa had started planning sooner.

Because the next day, Rickon Stark bit "Little Walder" Frey at approximately 12:43 P.M. during recess.

Catelyn Stark received the call while baking a batch of sugar cookies for when the kids got home, and nearly dropped her tray in despair.


End file.
